


Barracks

by Thepenbemightier



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Fluff, friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thepenbemightier/pseuds/Thepenbemightier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of drabbles containing snippets from the lives of the Ylissean Shepherds as they go about their daily routines. (Multiple ships.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Armor

Armor

 

 

“It makes me look fat, doesn’t it Chrom?” Robin circled around, looking over herself.

“Not at all,” he replied looking from his seat on the ground, his arms behind his head. “I think you look great.”

“Really?” she asked.

“The craftsmanship is excellent,” he said. “And besides, you wouldn’t choose looks over practicality would you?”

“Of course not,” she said.

“And as a plus, we get to see more of you with the armor than the robes you always wear,” he smirked at her. She gasped and threw her breast plate at him.

“Damn practicality! I’m sticking with my robes. Pervert Chrom.”

“I am not a pervert!” he yelled at her.

“Pervert!” she said. “Walking in on me all the time! Flashing yourself! I am wearing the most clunky armor I can find…”

“Robin, I see you naked at least five times a week,” he said airily, standing up and handing her back the metallic attire. “What good is hiding yourself on the battlefield?”

“Oh so you’d rather I parade around in my birthday suit?” she challenged. “Very well, it could give the enemies a good distraction. I’ll just wear a revealing set of armor, and we’ll win every battle.”

He quickly wrapped his arms around her waist. “Let’s stick with the robes.”

“Pervert.”

 

* * *

 

“This isn’t as delicate as I’d hoped,” Maribelle pouted. “Not very ladylike is it?”

“My love,” Libra said with a light laugh. “You are preparing for battle, not a tea party.”

“But that doesn’t mean I have to be like a low-born,” she insisted.

Libra smiled at her and held her hand. “You are so ladylike, that anything placed upon your body becomes graced with feminine charm.”

“But what if I was not wearing anything?” she asked worriedly.

Libra sighed and averted his face to hide his blush. “My lady. That is a sight that one is truly blessed to see. Now just please promise to wear your armor.”

She smiled at him and pecked his cheek. “Only you appreciate me darling.”

“ _Lon’qu_ ,” Lissa whined, drawing out the last vowel in his name. “How do I put this on?”

“You’re asking me?” he said, absentmindedly watching a beetle run up his arm.

She looked at him in annoyance. “Ew, get that thing away, it’s disgusting.”

“It’s not a thing,” he said. “It’s a creature that the gods created.”

“Still, get it away!”

“Says the girl who goes around collecting frogs to slip down Robin’s clothes?” he snorted.

“That’s different!” she protested. She made a mental note to put one down his trousers.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

“Wha—“ she jumped.

“I know you very well,” he said. “And tell me, how do you manage to wear that dress every day, yet not know how to put on a piece of armor.”

“It’s different!” she said. “I’ve had all these fancy people teach me!”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Come over here.” She obliged happily and skipped over to her husband. “Princess,” he added in an undertone.

That’s it. He was definitely going to have a cold, slimy, frog down his—

“Don’t you dare.”

* * *

 

“How do you manage to walk around in this?” Gaius complained. He was now training in the ways of the Trickster, and he was none too happy with his change in attire. “Or fly around and battle on a Pegasus?”

“Practice makes perfect love,” Sumia said, picking apart yet another flower. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

He grumbled. “This will reduce my honey collecting time.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, walking up to him, and adjusting his cape. “I’m here to help.”

“You’ll help me put it on?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“And take it off?”

“Yes.”

“And also take my clothes off?”

“Ye—Gaius!” she swatted his armored chest, drawing her hand away in pain as he smirked at her.

* * *

 

“Come on,” Stahl said to his wife. “Try it.”

“I’ll hex you if you make me,” Tharja hissed at him.

And no further attempts were made.

* * *

 

“Will this make me look taller?” Ricken asked Nowi.

“I don’t know,” she frowned. “Will you even fit in it?”

“I can try,” he said determinedly

…

“Ricken?” Nowi called. “Where are _you_?”

“Help!” she could hear a voice say faintly.

“Where are you?” she scanned around before gasping. She discovered that the source of the cry was a metallic heap on the ground.

She helped him up quickly and rescued the poor fellow.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she said. “But you’re too short for the armor.”  
“That was their smallest size,” he wailed.

“It’s okay,” she hugged him. “You’re the perfect size!”

“But you can turn into a big dragon!”

She gave him a look. “Not all the time. I’m still a human. Besides, you don’t need anything. I’ll be your armor!”

“Aww, Nowi!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Take this one,” Laurent said, finding a rather obscure piece of armor. “And this one as well.”

“But,” Noire said, as he handed her each piece. “Where does it even go? My ”

“Ah,” he said, “allow me to explain. That one is for the knuckle of your pinky.” He started rambling on about all the different types and functions of armor that he was piling up on her until she broke.

“YOU IMBECILE!” she roared. “YOU DARE CONSIDER ME A WEAKLING?”  
“Oh my,” Laurent was enthralled by her rage.

“I HAVE NO NEED FOR SUCH THINGS! AWAY FROM ME, BEFORE YOU TASTE MY WRATH!”

“But I just want you safe,” Laurent said. This broke Noire out of her trance.

“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, hiding her face in her hands. “I did it again!”

“Don’t be sorry!” he said. “It sent my heart racing most exquisitely!”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “So this is for…my pinky, you said?”

He relented. “Perhaps, I went a bit overboard…”

She looked at him sheepishly. “It makes me happy that you care though.”

He smiled at her. “FOOLISH HUMAN! HOW DARE YOU CAUSE THESE EMOTIONS!”

“Yes Noire! Let it all out!” he watched her fondly as she threw various forms of insults and death threats at him.

 

* * *

 

“ROBIN!” Inigo roared furiously, which was rather unusual for him, and he was stomping his way through camp. Robin had been discussing strategies with Gerome, who had taken a liking to her. She saw Inigo marching towards them, and she whispered the reason to Gerome, who let out a rare burst of laughter. “You!” he said, his voice dripping with betrayal. “You evil woman!”

Robin had been biting the insides of her cheeks to restrain herself from laughing but she doubled over in laughter. Gerome peered around to get a look and chuckled once more, his laughter increasing. The armor that Robin had put Inigo in had made the cheeks of his bottom very, very, apparent. It could be very well spotted from over a mile. “Oh sure!” he said sounding scandalized. “Laugh all you want! Have your merry little party over here. It’s so hilarious right?”

Robin looked up at him and giggled, clutching her aching stomach.

“I can’t believe you would do this to me!” he said, pouting like a child.

“I—I’m sorry!” she said in between fits.

“No you’re not!” he argued.

“Ok, fine not really,” she gasped, wiping away a few tears. “But you deserved it!”

“All the girls were laughing at me!” he cried. “All of them!”

“As were the men,” she said. “And that was the point.”

“Such a cruel trick you’ve played upon me, an innocent—“  
“We got sick of your flirting,” Robin said. “All of us.”

He jutted out his lower lip again, looking down with an embarrassed expression. “Just…help me out of this will you?” he asked.

“Do it yourself, you’re not a child,” she said.

“Please,” he said. She rolled her eyes, and unclasped the hooks of his armor adroitly, and pulled it down. “Not here!” he blushed. “W-what are you?” Robin had her hand to her mouth, as did Gerome. It had appeared that she had also pulled down his trousers, revealing his smallclothes to the camp.

“ROBIN!”

* * *

           

 

“Donnel?” Cordelia asked one day, as she was helping him gather firewood.  
“Yeah?”  
“Why do you wear that pot on your head?”  
Silence.  
“For protection,” he said.  
“But surely there’s something else you can wear,” she said. “We have plenty of armor to spare.”  
“Nah,” he said. “This is what makes me comfortable.”  
“A pot…all the time?” she asked doubtfully. “That doesn’t sound too pleasant.”  
“It’s fine, really,” he said nervously. “I have enough wood, I’ll be giving this to Frederick,” he quickly scattered, leaving behind a very confused Pegasus knight.  
“I have to get to the bottom of this,” she frowned, looking at his retreating back.  
“Psst,” she heard a whisper. She turned around and jumped.  
“Stahl,” she scolded. “Do not sneak up upon me like that!”  
“Sorry,” he said. “But I happened to overhear your conversation.”  
“So, you know why he chooses to—“  
“Yes,” he nodded. “When you’re alone, all you have to do is get it off of his head.”  
“And that will explain everything?” she asked.  
“Yes. Good luck, Cordelia.”  
…  
“AIEEEEEE!” Donnel clutched his head so fearfully that momentarily Cordelia had wondered whether or not she took off a part of his head.  
“What!” she yelled. “Why are you shouting!”  
“My hair!” he screamed. “Don’t look at it!”  
“Is that all?” she said, highly irritated. “Just let me fix it will you?”  
“Nah, it’s all right,” he said reaching for his helmet. “Just give it back, will you?”  
“No,” she said, putting it out of reach. “Bring some water and a comb, and I’ll fix you up. Now.” She crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. He grumbled, but obliged to her request.  
…  
“Wow,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re a miracle worker.”  
She smiled. “I told you I can fix it.”  
“Thanks Cordelia,” he grinned. “But can I still have ma helmet back? I’ve gotten too used to it.”  
She shook her head in exasperation, before yielding and tossing him back his cooking utensil rather forcefully.


	2. Bandages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little moments of the shepherds tending to their injuries

Bandages

“You need to stop doing that,” Robin said quietly, sitting Lon’qu down next to her. “Drink this first,” she handed him a vulnerary.   
“Thanks,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and gulping down the bitter liquid.   
“Please take off your shirt,” she commanded him. “I mean it,” she said. “Don’t keep doing things like that.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, peeling off his shirt and revealing his well toned upper body.   
“No?” she said casually, taking out a roll of gauze and another potion. “So tell me, dear. Where did this nasty wound come from then?” She scooted close to him, tenderly lifting his arm. She examined the wounded area, a deep cut on his shoulder.   
“In battle,” he replied tersely.   
“Oh, I see,” she said, “silly me.” She dabbed on the potion rather roughly upon the injury.  
He hissed loudly. “Be gentle will you!”  
“So you’re saying I did this on purpose?”  
“That is exactly what I’m saying. Since when are you a healer anyway?”  
“Since I started my training with Lissa,” she said offhandedly. “Anyways, maybe one of us isn’t being honest,” she finished cleaning the wound and looked at him. “I’m talking about you Lon’qu. Stop taking hits for me!”   
“I am only doing my duty,” he said, watching her as she carefully bandaged the wound, her fingers wrapping the cotton to the best of her ability.   
“Well whatever sense of duty you have,” she said bitterly. “I don’t want you to die for it.”   
“I must protect our tactician,” he said. “You are guiding our swords, our lives rest in your hands.”   
“Yes, well, I don’t want any one to die for me,” she said, clipping the bandage snugly.   
“And,” he said after a short silence. “You are my wife.”  
She gave him a wry smile. “That I am.”   
“Don’t you worry about me,” he said seriously. “I won’t be disappearing as long as I know you need me.”  
“Lon’qu, you sap,” she laughed, pinching his cheek, causing him to growl at her. “You need to be careful. I mean it.” She leaned up and captured his lips in a kiss. He wrapped his good arm around her, pulling her close.   
He pulled away momentarily to say, “the same goes for you woman. I’d be lost without you.”   
He could be a cold jerk. But she knew that she was marrying a total sap.   
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Lissa,” Chrom began.  
“No!” she said. “I don’t want to hear it.”   
“But—“  
“Save it,” she said, pulling extra hard on the bandage she was wrapping.   
“Ow, watch it, will you!” he gritted his teeth.  
“Who’s the healer here, you or me?” she put a hand on her hip and stared down her brother.   
“Was that a rhetorical question?” he asked weakly.   
She huffed. “Shut up Chrom. I was doing fine by myself. I can handle myself in battle, you know!”  
“But you’re my little sister,” he said. “It was instinct.”  
“I don’t need another nanny,” she said, not unkindly. “I have Frederick taking care of that.”   
“You called, milady?” said nanny appeared. “I heard milord has been injured.” He was holding up a tray with tea. The two siblings groaned in exasperation.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Henry was struggling to get the bandage around his ankle properly. He had been taken down by a root sticking out of the ground. This fact had been making both him and Frederick miserable. “Blast it,” he grumbled, his usually happy face now contorted in a frown.   
“May I help?” Olivia timidly asked, looking at his messy work of patching up pitifully. She saw him fall at the end of the battle, and knew that he insisted that he was alright. But little did she suspect that he would be secretly trying to patch himself up.   
He looked at her, blushing from his lost dignity. She smiled kindly and sat down next to him. “Give it to me?” she unwrapped the messy bandages and expertly rewound them. “I’m a dancer,” she explained. “I’m used to doing this.”  
“Thanks,” he said. “I like blood, but not the pain. When it comes to me,” he laughed, back to his usual self.   
“I know,” she sighed tiredly. “We all do.”   
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Uh, Lucina?” Morgan asked his sister sheepishly, looking down while twiddling his thumbs.   
“What is it?” she was polishing falchion for the umpteenth time, and looked up at her brother.  
“Do you have any bandages, perchance?” he said quietly.   
“What is it,” she stood up immediately, as though there was an attacker upon them. “Are you injured badly?”  
“No, no!” he quickly raised his palms and sighed. This was a bad idea. “I just got a paper cut.”  
“A paper cut?” she looked at him with raised eyebrows.  
“It normally wouldn’t matter,” he said. “But I was studying up, and when I was moving the books, well it’s a pretty bad one.” He showed her his finger, which was bleeding profusely.   
“Oh you are badly injured!” she said worriedly. “Drink this,” she threw a vulnerary at him, which he barely caught. She paced around and panicked.   
“Something tells me you’re not cut out to be a healer,” he looked at her amusedly.   
“Do you want my help or not?” she said, wrapping his finger up all the same.  
“Yes uncle Frederick,” he laughed.  
“Did someone call my name?” the great knight called from outside the tent, his eyes widening at the scene before him. “Are you injured? I shall immediately summon your parents!”   
The two siblings groaned in exasperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to request! I can add on in previous chapters too, like for the last one.


	3. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shepherds have fun shopping...more or less.

Shopping  
  
“Father,” Nah said to Lon’qu, shifting her weight between her feet repeatedly. “Can I ask you for something?”   
“What is it Nah?” he asked her. “Do you desire something?”  
“Well yes…” she said, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. They were in the market with the other shepherds, but her father had been mostly out of sight and leaning against various surfaces.  
“Speak, child,” he said, looking at her. “I am waiting.”  
“Right,” she nodded and gulped nervously. “I was really wanting….that is…may I have a necklace, Father?” She looked at him hopefully.   
“A necklace?”   
“Well,” her fingers nervously wound at the fabric of her collar. “The only jewelry I have is my ring….I thought it would be nice to have something from you…if it’s okay!” she hastily added.  
He looked at his daughter with a soft look. “Sure.” He groaned internally at the prospect of having to go into an establishment full of women.  Again.   
…  
“Thank you very much, Father!” she said happily, clutching her new tear shaped jewel. She looked towards the man and gasped. “F-father…Are you alright?”  
He was sporting a sickly shade of green upon his visage. “Let’s just get back to camp.” He was shuddering, and Nah held him by the arm.   
“Yes, Father.”

* * *

  
“Whatcha looking at Tharja?” Henry cheerfully greeted his wife. She was in a rather shady area of the market and way lustfully eying the wares.  
“It seems like this merchant has some rather…rare items for sale.” She was examining what looked like a lizard’s tail of a peculiar pattern. “These would be excellent for my curses.”  
“And it’s nothing you can get on your own?” he asked, secretly wondering about the prices of such rare goods.  Nothing too pricy he hoped. He wasn’t rather fond of the pain of parting with gold.   
“No,” she said. “These are exclusive to distant regions…a wonder that he has much of these.”  
“Then you should get them,” he said.   
“Very well,” Tharja smiled. “I’m running rather low on funds since my last experiment. Please hand me your money bag.”   
“But I just bought Noire a new sling for her arrows…” his constant smile slipped slightly.   
“Now before I curse you.”  
He laughed in defeat. “Fine. Let me buy you more items that you can threaten me with.”  
“Don’t worry husband,” she smirked, running a nail over the back of his neck. “I’ll make it worth your while.”  
Somewhere in the distance, a girl could be heard crying.

* * *

  
“Another one?” Cordelia sighed. “I am rather running low on gold…”  
“Hey,” Severa sniffed. “That’s not my problem. You want stories; I’ll give them to ya. But you’ve gotta pay the price. And if you didn’t give most of your earnings to Chrom, then you wouldn’t be facing this problem.” She tossed her hair, and pointed towards another set of earrings.  
“When are you even planning to wear this?” the magenta haired knight asked, handing over the funds needed for the purchase. The shopkeeper handed the bag to a cheerful Severa. “They’ll only get in your way in battle and be a risk.”  
“When we win the war,” she said. “And I can wear it out of battle too. They flatter me nicely.”  
“When did I raise such a sadist to be my daughter?” she asked.  
“Perhaps you’re not such a perfect person after all,” she said airily, strolling past some stalls, until one booth caught her eye and grinned.  
“I never said I was.”  
“That’s true…” she drawled. “Mother, I do need some new smallclothes.” She was fingering a silk pair.   
“Last purchase,” Cordelia said sternly. “I can’t afford any more stories.”  
“Fine, fine, I’ll be generous,” she said. “I hope they have my size.”  
“That shouldn’t be a problem for you,” she mumbled, turning pink.  
“What was that?”  
“Nothing, dear.”  
“Yes, I believe they do run low on small sizes, unless of course it’s for prepubescent girls.” Severa bit her tongue, knowing she had gone too far, and relented. “Mother I—“  
Cordelia slammed down a few gold pieces. “I hope this should suffice, dear.” She swiftly turned away and left the area.   
Severa was staring at her purchase guiltily. “Damn…”  
…  
Later that night, Severa was standing nervously outside her Mother’s tent. She couldn’t catch her the rest of the day, and finally had her chance.  
The problem was, she was never good at the whole apologizing thing.  
She took a deep breath.  
“Mother…” Severa poked her head into the tent. Her father, Stahl, was patting Cordelia’s shoulder, and Severa winced. She stepped inside. “Are you mad at me?”   
“Mad?” Cordelia replied. “Why would I be mad?” Her voice was stilted and high. She always was a terrible liar. Her husband turned away to disguise his laugh as a cough.  
“Look, I’m sorry,” Severa said, looking down at her feet. “I didn’t mean it.”  
Cordelia regarded her daughter for a few moments before giving her a sad smile. “Come her, Severa.”  
Severa gulped and stepped forward.   
“All I wanted was for my dear girl to grace me with stories of the two of us. To feed a mother’s curiosity.”  
“And I took advantage of that,” she said shamefully.  
“Dear, if you ever want anything, don’t be afraid to just ask me or your father. Instead of resorting to such measures.”  
“Yes,” Stahl said, remembering the last time she had wanted something.  
“Yeah,” she blushed. “And, sorry about the other thing…”  
“Let’s just promise not to talk about it again,” Cordelia said.   
“Okay,” she nodded. “But wait, if you never, then what about me?"' she looked at her chest. " Am I finished gro—“  
“Severa,” Cordelia cut in. “Not in front of your father. As clueless as he is.”   
“Not that clueless,” the cavalier turned the color of his wife’s hair.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Gaius was sitting outside the wall, angrily ripping blades of grass from the ground and he had been brooding. The sun was setting and the shepherds were filing out from the marketplace. He didn’t notice his attacker, bombarding him with a handful of berries. “Hey what’s the big idea—oh hi sweetheart,” he said, glumly greeting his wife.  
“Gaius,” she said grumpily, sitting down in front of him. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all day!”  
“And it didn’t occur to you that I could have left?” he asked, stifling a laugh.  
“Well, no…” she scratched her head. “But hey, why did you leave.” She crawled into his lap and looked at him innocently.  
He sighed. “Just didn’t feel like shopping…” he said.  
“So you’ve been sitting out here?” she challenged him.  
“I’m just waiting for you, princess.”  
“Gaius, what are you hiding?” She looked him in the eyes until her husband sighed.  
“Fine. You wanna know? I got kicked out,” he said. “Happy?”  
“What? Who—why?” she looked angry and stood up. “Why I oughta!”  
“Whoa there tiger,” he pulled her back down. “Easy. “She huffed, looking at him. “One of the officers recognized me from my thieving days. And that’s why I’m here causing destruction to the landscaping.”  
“I see,” she said, looking pitifully at the patches of bare dirt her husband caused. “But you’re different now! You’re a shepherd now! You’re one of us! How dare he treat you this way!”    
“Wow, you’re really like a princess now,” he said in admiration.  
“You think so?” she scratched her ear shyly, before shaking her head. “No! That’s not—just—“ she stood up again, and pulled him up with her. “Let’s go. Now!”   
…  
“You really are just like a princess,” Gaius laughed, tears coming out of his eyes. “That guy was apologizing like crazy!”   
She giggled. “That was pretty, awesome, huh?” she said. “But promise me to not hide anything anymore. If anyone does that—“  
“I’ll just sic my princess on them,” he said proudly, plopping a kiss upon the blonde girl’s lips.

* * *

  
“Robin,” Inigo sang cheerfully, “look what I’ve bought you!” He plopped down next to the tactician in her tent with a self-satisfied smile on his face.  
“Not interested,” Robin said dismissively. She was engrossed in her novel. It was Sumia’s latest find, and it was rather good. And there was the fact that she was not at all happy with her husband at all.  
“But why?” his handsome face slipped into a frown.   
“You should know why,” she answered.   
“But I got you this book,” he said quietly. “You really wanted it.”  
“I didn’t agree with your methods.” She turned the page. “Now let me finish this, I’m almost at the end…”  
“The serving maid is the killer,” he said bitterly, causing Robin to look at him with a scandalized look on her face. “I’ve read that one before.” She had her jaw dropped and proceeded to start whacking him with the book.    
“You…absolute…jerk!” she thrashed him in between words.   
He whimpered. “No…Robin…please…”  
“You…flirtatious…airhead!” she said. Just then Morgan had appeared at the tent, hoping to show his mother some plans he had drawn up for a potential trap.   
“Is this a bad time?”  
But the pair didn’t notice their son.  
“It wasn’t really flirting, per se,” Inigo put up his hands, trying to escape. “You’re a tactician, you should know it was merely persuasion…”  
“You cheated on Mom?” Morgan gasped, finally drawing the attention of his parents.   
“N-no!” Inigo said. “Of course not!”   
“YARGH!” Morgan let out a war cry and pounced on his father.  
“Morgan!” Robin scolded, pulling the amnesiac back. “Don’t do that.”   
“Will my family stop trying to beat me to death?” Inigo barked angrily. “I just wanted to buy you this book of strategies, did I commit a crime?”    
Robin huffed, but she felt guilty. “You spoiled the ending.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“How could you do such a thing,” Robin said.  
“How could you?” Morgan chimed in.  
“Young man, do not get involved in this,” Inigo brushed himself off, glaring at his son, who skulked off sadly, taking his crumpled drawing with him. “Fine,” Inigo said. “I won’t use my persuasion anymore.”  
“Flirting,” Robin said. “And, how did it even work in the first place?”   
Inigo narrowed his eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. What, you think your husband lacks charm and appeal?”   
“That’s not it,” she smiled. “But…your flirting never worked on anyone.”  
He gave her a sly grin before pinning her down and nuzzling her neck.   
“Works on you just fine, doesn’t it love?”    
  
   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of these, if not all, pairings were requested on ff.net!


	4. Potatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute Lon'qu/Robin/Morgan fluff

“Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom.”

“Dear boy, how many times have you said mom in that last sentence? “ She looked at her son, who pouted. She smiled at him kindly, before telling him, “Go ask your father, I’m doing some strategies for Chrom, and he needs them at the war council tonight.”

“Ok,” he said sadly before perking up and trotting off. No matter. Maybe this way was better after all.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad,”

“Morgan,” he cut in sternly, frightening the young boy without stopping his potato peeling. “I heard you the first time. What do you need, son?”

“Erm,” he said, twitching slightly, sending a pang of guilt through his father. “I wanted to ask…if we could…” he trailed off.

Lon’qu set his potato down before looking at his son with a gentle expression. “Ask. Don’t be afraid.”

_Kind of hard not to be afraid_ , he thought. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to go on a picnic. You, me, and mom. I tried asking her, but she was busy, so I was hoping to surprise her, and you could help me, after all you’re good at peeling potatoes so—“

“Slow down your pace,” his father said. “I can barely keep up.”

“Right. Sorry.” Morgan sheepishly ran his hand over his hair. “But I thought it would be nice if we could spend a little time together? And a picnic would be nice, or so I thought.” He looked at the man hopefully, the latter breaking out into a soft smile. He leaned over and ruffled Morgan’s hair and elicited a smile from the young tactician.

“Very well. It shall be done.” He picked up the potato and resumed peeling it.

“Great!” Morgan shouted, bouncing up and down.

His father shook his head, partially with—hidden—amusement. “Would you mind acting your age, once in a while? You’re as excitable as your mother.”

“Sorry,” he said, ceasing his hopping. “But it will be one of my first memories of actually doing something together.”

Lon’qu relented once more. It was true. Yes, the trio would talk every now and then but they haven’t had a chance to unwind as of yet. It was always chores, or training, maintaining supplies, and fighting, oh endless fighting. And unfortunately, he had a pair of amnesiacs as his family. Not that he ever regretted it for a moment. He just felt sad at times when the topic came up. He never had a bounty of happy memories, save for the ones with his childhood friend. But at least he knew who he was.

“When do you want it?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“How about tonight?” Morgan replied immediately. “Before anything can go wrong.”

“Won’t it be dark?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” he shot back a wide grin, with a secret in his expression. “You’ll see. But make sure to come right after the war council. No delays. And don’t forget!”

“Yes sir,” he said sarcastically, his lip twitching.

“It’s a surprise so don’t tell mom!”

“Don’t tell mom what?” Robin said, hands on her hips, a cocked eyebrow, and a smile on her face.

“Nothing,” he said perkily.

“Hmph,” she shot the pair a look. “Cynthia told me she saw you here/ What was it that you needed?”

“Nope, got that taken care of. How’s that war prep going?”

“But what about what you needed earlier?” she pressed.

“Just stuff. Periods and what not.”

His parents gave him a very odd look and he blushed. “It always works with Severa and her Dad…” he said, very embarrassed.

“Son, let me tell you a thing,” Vivian said, approaching him.

“No, no! I know what I did wrong—Got to go Nah is calling me!” And with that he made a hurried escape, leaving his mother in his dust.

“What on earth was that about to the point where he had to bring up perio—“ she looked at her flushed husband. “Oh for the love of Naga, grow up!” He coughed, though relieved that the topic had changed, though to his chagrin. His son owed him. He would need to peel some more potatoes; it seemed, to prepare for this picnic. But at the moment, he enjoyed the hug from his wife, who fondly whispered, “Gynophobe.”

“Quit it.”

“Period.”

“ _Robin_.”

“Menstruation.”

“ _Robin!”_

…

“Da, da, da, da, _dum_ ,” Morgan hummed to himself as he took a seat down. He had lain down a tarp like object, probably the fabric a spare tent if one had to guess. Only he knew why he needed so much space. He lay back and looked at the stars. He had later rejoined his father after his mother left, although he had to witness a romantic scene that he wasn’t too pleased about seeing. The two peeled potatoes and prepared a pleasant dinner. Now all he had to do was wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

He found about twenty constellations at this point. And he was terrible at astronomy.

Where were they? Surely his father didn’t forget? His heart sank momentarily. No it couldn’t be it. Maybe something happened and they got distracted? They couldn’t help it…There was a war going on after all.

Maybe his dad got lost, and he should go find them…

Just then he heard a gasp, and he looked around to see his parents who were lit up by the glow of fireflies.

“Mom! Dad!” he stood up and ran up towards him.

“Is this what you were keeping from me?” Robin said, pulling her son in for a hug.

“And me as well?” Lon’qu asked as he was pulled in by his family.

“But you’ve had more of an idea than I did,” Robin pointed out. “Clearly the two of you were planning something.”

“A picnic, to be precise,” Morgan added, although slightly muffled.

“A picnic?” she asked, pulling back and smiling. “And your father helped?”

“Oh yes! Lots!” Robin smiled at his reply, pecking his cheek and then her husband’s. Both of them were pink for a moment, but Morgan recovered and his mother by her hand. “Come on! Food is gonna get colder!”

“Right,” she said, a stray firefly dancing around her face. “How did you find this place anyway?”

“Was looking for a flower,” he said, and they sat down. “Now prepare yourself for a feast.”

“Let me guess,” she said before opening the basket. “Lot’s of potatoes?”

“Nothing wrong with potatoes,” Lon’qu said a bit defensively. “They’re good for you.”  
“He’s right you know,” Morgan added with a fervent nod. “You could live off of them.” His dad looked at him approvingly with a smile.   
The sight was too cute to bear for Robin, and she pulled them both by their necks into another hug.

“Watch out for the mashed potatoes!”

“And the potato salad!”

“And the—“

She released them quickly to spare the food. “Do we even have any potatoes left?”

“Yes,” the two men replied, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’ll take that as a no,” she sighed, taking out the food and stifling a giggle. Her potato loving family was an interesting mix, but they were adorable.

  


 


	5. The Swordmaster, The Tactician, and The Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lon'qu may be fearless when it comes to most insects, but something about spiders has both Robin and Lon'qu frightened to death.

“KILL IT!”   
Robin was standing precariously on top of a chair in the barracks, with one foot on top of the frame of the rickety chair and the other on the seat, and was staring at an overly large spider that had found it’s way inside. She was trying her best to keep balance and held her robes tightly to her body, in case the spider managed to jump up on it. Of course, the spider could climb up the wooden chair, but she was avoiding thinking that thought for now.

“I-I’d prefer not to…” She looked around to see her husband and noticed that he was in a similar position, which she found surprising since he would probably sleep with insects if Robin let him. But she decided to continue to yell at him until he listened to her.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” She was squealing like a young girl while trying not to fall off from her safety spot. She looked at the exit and was mentally calculating if she could make a run for it without encountering the creepy critter. She found the thing absolutely disgusting. It was yellow and she could see the hairy details of each part it had. It needed to be killed.

“I, please, no…” Lon’qu’s voice was rather weak as he was tracking it’s movements carefully to make sure it did not go out of his sight.

“I don’t care about your stupid obsession with bugs, just kill the damn thing!” She was going to put her foot down for this. She lost count of all the times where she wanted to cuddle with her gynophobic husband after a long day of work and instead he was busy with a pair of bugs. It was rather insulting to her, and she would become angry with him. Of course the poor man was rather oblivious and it would take days for him to find the root of her anger and then a way to appease her. Which would then lead to…other activities. 

“It has nothing to do with my fondness for beetles.” A fondness that he deeply wished that his wife would share with him. Spiders was another matter. He absolutely despised spiders. Those long legs, those beady eyes… He managed to repress another shudder as he gripped on to his chair. Urgh. 

Robin put two and two together and realized exactly what he meant.   
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of them!” She looked at him in surprise and disappointment (she was hoping to convince him to kill it). 

“Then I’m not going to say it,” he said grumpily before he staggered slightly. 

Robin brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face before sighing. “Then I’m going to have to take this into my own hands,” she said determinedly and she took a tome from inside her robe.

“You’re going to kill it with fire?” he asked her. A part of him didn’t wish to kill the creature, but the part of him that was terrified won out. Besides, he reasoned, it could be poisonous. And he couldn’t let it harm his wife or son.

“Even better,” Robin said darkly and turned the cover of the tome towards him so he could see. He raised in eyebrows in surprise.

“Thoron?” He didn’t know about magic, but his wife had took the time to explain the different tomes to him, so understood that much. “That powerful?” 

“I will do whatever it takes,” she said very seriously and raised her book.

“Wait! Rob-“  
CRACK!  
A strong burst of thoron burst into the cramped little room, and the impact of the force knocked Lon’qu and Robin from their spots, and the two toppled to the floor in unison.

“Robin! Why would you do that?!”

“The real question is,” she said breathing heavily from fear as she stood up quickly, 

“Where is it now?”

“We would know if you didn’t—“

“What?” Robin worried as soon as she heard the deep voice speaking and looked towards him slowly.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly as he drew his blade slowly.

“Wh-why...” she knew the answer to the question, of course. 

“Don’t speak either,” he commanded harshly as he moved towards her stealthily. He was terrified, but he promised that he would protect her from anything. Even if it did mean it was a humongous yellow spider perched upon his wife’s shoulder.

“Lon’qu…” the way she said his name hurt his heart, and he vowed to bring a quick end to the foul creature.  
He raised his blade over his head, mentally calculating the exact angle he needed to strike at and—

“Mom!” A streak of blue ran into the room with the commander of the army behind him at a slower speed.

“What on earth is going on?” Chrom asked Lon’qu as he saw the swordsmaster stand with a blade raised above his head.

“Don’t come near!” Lon’qu and Robin had said at the same time and this paused their son in his tracks.

“But I have to save you,” he said, his voice trembling. “Dad’s going to attack you…”  
Lon’qu and Robin’s eyes met for a moment, when they realized that from a different perspective, it indeed did seem that he was about to attack his wife.   
Lon’qu’s eyes widened when he realized that the spider had moved closer to Robin’s face, the tactician in question was tilting her head away, and a tear was actually running down her face.

“Robin?” Chrom was taken aback at the fact that she was crying and moved closer to stop Lon’qu, who he had assumed went insane, and then saw the spider. “Don’t move!”

“I’m trying my best,” she hissed before emitting a squeak. The pincers were touching her face, and Morgan finally spotted the arachnid.

“Mom, I’ll take care of it!” Morgan took out his own sword, and approached his other.

“Don’t!” Lon’qu said. “You’ll chop your mother’s head off. Let me handle this.”  
He normally had no issue with his skill, but he was having doubts as he thought back to the water filled jar that gave him so much trouble. But this was no time for doubt.  
“Hya!” he let out a cry and stabbed forward.   
Everyone held their breath for a moment, and realized that the spider was finally off of Robin. 

Morgan took this as his cue to run forward and start bashing the spider to death with his sword. “How dare you hurt my mother!” He said with each swing. “You will pay.” 

“So much trouble over one spider,” Chrom said, shaking his head. “That one’s a poisonous sort though,” he added.   
Robin was trembling, and Lon’qu set aside his sword so that he could pull in his wife for a hug.

“That was absolutely ridiculous,” Robin mumbled into his chest. Their affection was so apparent that Chrom had to avert his gaze with a small blush on his face.

“It was,” he murmured in agreement as he petted her hair. “You’ve learned one secret of mine today.”

“That you’re very good at swordsmanship?” she asked playfully, and laughed when he grumbled.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. 

“I know. Let’s get Morgan before he smashes the thing permanently into the floor. We don’t want Maribelle to get on her backs.” 

 

Lon’qu shuddered at the thought and went with his wife to restrain their son from carrying out any more of his revenge.


	6. Inigo's Day Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inigo just wanted one day of peace. Just one.

“Well it is quite a lovely day,” Inigo hummed to himself. He was laying in the shade, a breeze passing through and going through his blue hair. He was enjoying the serenity in a meadow not too far from the castle. Yes. All was well. 

Of course after saying that he would be jinxed. 

Within moments, almost as though the gods were playing a cruel jest on him, he heard a rumble of thunder and felt rain pour on his face, causing some dirt from the tree he was laying under to fall on his hair. “Blast it!” he got up and sputtered, quickly seeking to find shelter. “Just my luck!” he cursed and ran to the main road, only to find the path to the castle blocked. He could see men all arguing with each other; there had been a collision of two carriages and chaos ensued. He sighed and knew that as a shepherd, it was his duty to interfere. It was a lesson he had learned especially from the tactician, who valued fairness above all. 

He rolled his soaked sleeves up and stepped forward to carry out his duty.  
An hour later and he had barely reached a resolution. He was a bit too timid to actually be heard at first, but as his temper rose, he managed to assert his power. 

Finally, the guards were clearing up the debris, but they were taking so long that he decided to take another path. He ducked out and found a wall that he sometimes jumped over when he dozed off and found himself in a hurry.   
What he didn’t expect was for a broken piece of the wall to snag onto his trousers and rip a gaping hole in the back.

“Gah!” the surprise of the tear sent him careening over the wall where he landed face first in a muddy puddle. He lay there for a moment, trying to regain his dignity. With no such luck, he stood up and wiped the dirt out of his eyes.   
The poor man was close to tears. He leaned against the wall to cover the unsightly rip in his attire. 

“What to do, what to do…” he wondered. He could take his shirt and tie it around his waist. Yes, that would work. Trouble was, he’d end up shirtless. “How indecent…Yet, that Vaike fellow never wears a shirt of any kind…save for his wedding day, I suspect.”

There was no other way to go about it. “Time to man up,” he grumbled and closed his mouth to pull off the muddy top. He tied it around his waist and slapped his forehead. “I must look ridiculous.” He knew it was going to be an extremely bad idea, but nonetheless he sought out a puddle and looked to see how he was. 

To his horror, it was worse than he suspected. His hair was sticking up like a crow’s nest. He was bedraggled, what were left of his pants were soaked with mud and covered with grass. His skin was covered with dirt and his face made him look like he’d come out of some sort of a bog. He looked worse than a Risen. 

“Why?” he sobbed, his knees dropping to the ground painfully. “Why me?” He wiped away his tears after a while and skulked to the castle.

On the way there several children screamed in absolute terror and pelted berries at him. To add insult to injury, he was now covered in an assortment of colors. He was like some sort of sick, sick, jester. A jester that occupied children’s nightmares he was sure. “I bet even Grima would scream at the sight of me…”

The only thing that kept him going and not surrendering to his fate was the promise of a steaming hot bath. He would ask Robin to massage his aching body and to make him some warm soup. Yes, all would be well. He reached the castle grounds and could spot said person walking outside and looking up at the sky. He followed her gaze and realized that in all of his pathetic misery, he missed the beautiful rainbow that had graced the sky. Luck was definitely going to favor him now. He approached her, still looking at the colors in the sky when—

“AGH!” he heard a shriek before a pebble hit him squarely in the forehead and he was sure there was an impressive bump.

“Back Risen, away with you!” another pebble hit him before he managed to cry out.

“Robin it’s me! Do you not recognize me?” he wailed, holding up his hands in defeat. 

“I-Inigo?” she recognized the voice immediately and dropped her weapons, her   
hands clasping over her mouth. “Oh gods…I am so, so, sorry!” 

“That’s,” he said, feeling giddy. “Quite…alright…” he tottered to the side and blacked out, hearing the faint voice of her cries.   
…  
“You’re awake!” Robin cried with relief, peering into his exhausted visage. 

“Mm…I suppose…” he looked at her, his eyes half open. 

“Here,” she propped him up and held a spoon of broth towards him. “Drink up, you’ve got a raging fever.”

“Have I now?” he asked, before taking a sip. He looked down and noticed that he was spotless, and tucked into a warm bed. “I am clean!” he said happily, drinking in the warmth of the bed. 

“Yes,” Robin giggled, feeding him another spoonful. “It’s a bit hard to clean up someone who was knocked out.” 

“How did I not wake up?” he mused, taking another sip.

“That may have been my fault,” she said with a wince.  
“Ah, it’s alright,” he said. “A fair reaction. I almost attacked myself when I saw what I looked like.”

“About that,” she said. “Care to explain what happened? I know you resolved some trouble in town today, but how did you come to the state I found you in?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed.

“I’ve got time,” she insisted.

“Very well.” Before he could start his tale of woe, and excitable Morgan sped into the room. 

“Mom look what I found!” he was holding up a dusty tome. He was holding an object. But his mother was not. In her surprise she had dropped the piping hot soup in a poor man’s lap.

Later, Robin had said, his scream could be heard all throughout Ylisstol.


	7. Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fill for an anon who wished for Einherjar Ike to bond with Priam!Morgan. Enjoy!

“Hah! Ha-ah!”   
Morgan swung his wooden blade through the air as ferociously as he could. He could be a terror on the battlefield, but watching the blue haired boy practiced was like watching, well, a boy. He was practically a child according to his mother; then again, she had no room to be speaking. 

Ike was watching him and analyzing the way he fought. The two were prepping for battle for the day after the next, and through a few conversations and a suspension of disbelief, Morgan had discovered that they were related. He didn’t reveal this fact as Ike would probably think him insane. Through much pestering, he had Ike agree to train with him.

“How am I doing?” He was sweating profusely as a result of his fierce training, and he could barely breathe between pants. But he was still going strong.  
Ike nods approvingly and moves over to him and circled the aspiring tactician.

“You have spirit. You’ve got it down to a science. But therein lies the problem.”  
Morgan sticks his sword into the dirt and leans against it on one elbow, using his other arm to wipe the sweat off of his brow.

“How come?” He couldn’t understand it. He had studied all of the forms meticulously. He stayed up many a late night reading about the proper way to parry, when to feint. He’d watched the swordmaster Lon’qu for ages, and then his own father, Priam, who was a legend of his own. He’d trained with Lucina and Chrom, (the latter managing to injure him with his habitual excessive force). What was he doing wrong?

“You have to be a bit more free. Find your own style. It’s good to have good form, but don’t be afraid to deviate from what you know. Take a look at that bald one.”  
He nodded his head towards Basilio.  
“Khan Basilio? I don’t think he would take to kindly to be referred like that.”  
“Eh,” Ike waved his hand. “I don’t think he heard me.”  
“He, he’s a free spirit. How he carries is sword is ideal. No hesitation. Just instinct, and then some.”  
“Some what?” Morgan cocked his head in confusion.  
“That’s not important,” Ike waved his hand airily once more, and then he pointed to Lon’qu.  
“Now look at this one. Excellent swordsman, I’ve sparred with him myself several times. But, he doesn’t have the exact degree of freedom that baldy carries.”  
“You really shouldn’t call him that,” Morgan shifted uneasily, thinking of what happened to the last soldier that said that.  
“It’s fine.”  
“So what do I do?”  
“How about this…Let’s spar.”  
“Really!” Morgan flashed his teeth happily. 

Ike chuckled and ruffled Morgan’s indigo locks.  
“Yeah. But let’s give you a quick breather. Don’t want you passing out and your mother having my hide.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed at the thought.

“I won’t pass out,” the boy protested although he sat down in the midst of a aptch of dandelions. They sat in silence watching the other soldiers perform their errands. “I have a question.”

“Shoot for it kid.” He turned his head towards him in anticipation. Probably about some technique. I’ve got a mean swing the kid can barely handle…

“Well… do you think I’m…I’m good enough?” Well that’s unexpected. And kinda vague.

Ike let out a bark of laugher. “Boy, we haven’t even sparred yet. And I wouldn’t take you as my partner if you weren’t.”

Morgan shook his head. “But you’re the kind to not back down from a challenge.”

“….True,” Ike admitted with a tilt of his head. “But I’m being taught to not just fight any old ruffian that comes my way.”

“Really?” Morgan’s curiosity was piqued by the fondness in Ike’s smile. “Who?”

“Aren’t you a nosy one?” Ike chuckled loudly and stood up.

“Are we starting already?” Morgan looked up excitedly and held his sword. He felt his partner’s wooden blade tap on his head twice.

“No time like the present, especially if you have enough energy to be nosy.”  
Logically, this made no sense whatsoever to him, but he wasn’t going to question it if he was finally going to be able to spar the radiant hero! Who happened to be a great-great-great-something-grandfather of his.

“Let’s do this!” he jumped up and swung his sword, although he momentarily lost his balance. “Whoa!”

“Easy there, twinkletoes,” Ike said with a swing of his blade. Morgan pirouetted away clumsily but managed to get a lucky hit. 

Or so he thought. Ike leaped over the sword and continued his attack.

“You won’t get me that easily,” Ike smirked at him and parried forward.  
They exchanged blow after blow, thrust after thrust, but both held on somehow.

“What did you say about not being good enough?” Ike said, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off of his brow.

“I’ve got a legacy to live up to, Gramps,” Morgan said before gasping at his mistake.

“Gramps?” Ike yielded at that address and drew back his weapon. 

“Slip of tongue,” Morgan quickly said. “Sorry about that.” He was met with narrowed eyes but he kept his sheepish expression. He was a bad liar on good days, but he sent a silent prayer to Naga that the ruse would work.

“Well,” Ike huffed indignantly. “I’m nowhere near that old…” he grumbled to himself before sticking his sword in to the ground. “Ah, let’s give it a rest. It won’t do any good on the battlefield if we collapse from exhaustion.”

“Agreed.” Morgan plopped down and closed his eyes. Ike lay down next to him and absentmindedly wiped his blade with the tie that usually kept his hair at bay.

“So what’s this legacy, you’re talking about?” He finally asked. He knew that the bunch that were allying up with them were no ordinary bunch, but he wondered what kind of stories that the group had.

“It’s just—Dad is such a great warrior.” Morgan let out a deep sigh and his usual cheerful countenance disappeared. People respect him and admire him. My mother is a genius tactician, and I want to be like her too. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for it sometimes.” Morgan’s smile slowly returned as he brightened back up. “But I’ll keep trying my best, and work hard. No pain, no gain, right?”

Ike chuckles at the kid’s unyielding spirit. He had endless spirit. All the kid had to do was show it in his fighting. He leaned over and ruffled his hair.  
“I think you’ll be alright. Y’know, you kind of remind me of myself as a kid.”

“Really?” he asked hopefully. Although the word “kid” rubbed him the wrong way. 

“Really,” Ike nodded sincerely. He didn’t know why, but he took a shining to the kid. “You’ll be alright,” he repeated.

"So will I be like Basilio one day?"  
"You can do better than baldy." Ike spoke confidently before gulping as a large shadow loomed over them.  
"Who can do better than whom?"   
The next day Ike's enemies all met a swift end after snickering at the hero's black eye.


	8. And the Spooky Begins

“Come one and come all!” Owain announced with as much fanfare the theatrical man could produce. He earned a hard nudge in the side from Inigo, who was glaring at him. 

The group was all dressed up in costumes of all sorts. Owain was dressed as the radiant hero, and Inigo as a mix of a trickster and a jester. The Shepherds were all to go to a carnival at midnight and Owain and Inigo thought to get the others into the mood, they would be telling scary stories. Yarne (who was put in some ancient hero’s outfit in hopes that it would give him more courage) said that their lives were horror stories, but he was immediately shut up.

“It’s just us,” Lucina said as she was arriving to the campfire with the rest of her family. They were curious to see what tales everyone had got, and would maybe share their own. Each sat with their respective partner; Lucina, who dressed as Marth sat with Gerome (who somehow was convinced that he was a wyvern whereas Inigo said he looked like a certain type of dancer), Morgan went as a demon (from childish tales) with Nah who went as some sort of fabled creature called a ‘vampire’, and Chrom who was a dark mage snuggled with Robin, a sea nymph. “No need to be dramatic.” 

“You’re no fun,” Owain pouted at his cousin and ignored her and instead focused his attention at all of the other people that were trickling in.

Cynthia, who wore a costume to match Owain, and Severa, who decided to be a princess, was dragging Yarne and Brady. Laurent trailed behind them as he chatted with his mother, discussing the probabilities of spiritual beings. They had both decided to dress as some researched that had discovered the properties of Arcthunder tomes.

“Looks like we’ve got some stragglers,” Inigo commented as he saw most everyone begin to settle down. He could hear Vaike’s raucous boasting to Lissa from fifty feet away. Something about him taking down five ‘ghosties’ down while his hands were tied behind his back. Libra had asked if he had a good stock of holy water, to which Maribelle giggled. He remained shut up as the last of them arrived. 

“Good, good,” Owain clapped his hands together and whispered something to Inigo. Inigo and Owain seemed to bicker over whatever he sent, and after what appeared to be a game of Lance, Sword, and Axe, Owain trudged off muttering leaving Inigo to be the announcer. The role seemed to fit his costume better anyway.

“So, let our eve of terrifying tales begin! This old hallows eve will be the most memorable you lot will ever have!” he avoided catching his mother’s eye, who seemed to be gushing to Frederick, and continued. He flinched from Owain’s glare; it appeared that they were arguing over who extinguished the lamps of the pathway to this bonfire. Owain returned, somehow covered in soot and smelling of flames, and stood next to Inigo.

“Well, without further ado,” Owain said, whilst holding back a cough, “let us begin!”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - 

“There once was a man and a woman,” Henry began eerily. What would have been a normal sentence came out as very creepy from him. Then again, a compliment would sound a threat if he spoke it. 

“Who let him go first?” Sumia whispered to herself. Sure she loved her husband, but his morbid tales kept her up late at night. Oh well, better to get the scariest story out of the way. 

“They lived as farmhands, you see, under a care of a young man. Now, they thought that it was strange that such a young person, not much older than you or I, had his own farm, nya ha, it is pretty unbelievable,” he passed around the fire and paused to look at an already frightened Yarne in the eyes. “But the fact was, it was very strange indeed.’

“The young man, you see, was not human at all.” He let the words hang in the air for dramatic effect.

“He had died and become a Risen.”

A few grossed out sounds went through the crowd.

“The couple had found this out one night after going to bed. They had needed to get something from the house, and the husband decided to brave the lovely, or for you normal folks, the creepy night.’

He walked into the house, and called out. No answer. He decided that the owner had gone to bed, and so he decided to go and help himself. As he went to get what he needed—“

“What did he need?” Severa asked rudely, with a smug look on her face. Henry slowly turned his face towards the girl; his usual smile frozen on his face. Brady had grasped on to her arms in warning, in case he hex them into oblivion. He was already freaked out as it is.

“That’s not important, nya ha ha,” he said pleasantly and turned his back to her. “No one…interrupt me.” Even Severa, with her glare pressed into his back, gulped from fear. “Now then.’

“As he went to get what he needed, a toothbrush let’s say for the sake of argument,” he turned back momentarily to give Severa a look, “he saw a strange sight indeed.’

“The young—or should I say dead, nya ha—owner was placing his eyes in a jar. The husband had held back a scream, which was wise of him. His quest forgotten, he quickly made his way back to the house that he was staying in with his wife, and yes, “ Henry said impatiently as he stopped Severa, who had opened her mouth to argue again, “he forgot about whatever damned thing he went for and they had their own house.” If he had any irritation, it was hidden in his smile.

“The husband tells the wife what he saw, and the two piece together that he must be some advanced form of Risen. The wife said, ‘well, we must get rid of him, then don’t we?”

“Finally some action,” Owain muttered to himself and Inigo nudged him in the side to keep him quiet, as a good host should be.

‘His heart sank, but he knew that he had to agree. She was none too pleased either; he was a great man. Even had medals of valiance to prove it. They weren’t the smartest, as those should have been a ringer, but, let’s move on, nya ha.

‘Every night, they waited with bated breath. They would go at around eleven and wait as the clock struck, standing for hours as they pathetically tried to gain courage. They went back each night until finally, they entered the room, to the shock of the Risen.’

“He had yelled out a painful ‘why’ with his eyes still in a jar and his legs up on a shelf. 

The Shepherds gagged as they formed the mental image in their minds; for some of them, the picture would be forever burned into their brains. Laurent and Miriel, however silently had discussed the scientific capabilities that this could present to them. 

“’Sorry,’ the man murmured as he plunged down his weapon into the Risen. The wife let out a murmur of regret, until fear took over their bodies once more. The Risen twitched, and their survival instincts came in; for they knew they would be dead for betraying his trust, as they should be, but that’s neither here nor there, now is it? 

“She had brought a sword of her own and she had better reflexes than her husband. She began to chop off each of his body parts.”

A few gasps started to echo into the night as he went into the gory and gruesome details of how exactly the body was dismembered. Inigo had to clear his throat; his face green even through the white make up he was sporting on his face, several times for Henry to get the hint. They picked names out of a hat, but maybe he should have rigged it so this guy didn’t go first. 

“Anyways, the two of them hurriedly began to scatter body parts, with them divided evenly among them. He was dead anyways, so they didn’t really commit murder, did they? There wasn’t even any blood to spill, so they could say, perhaps with a muddled conscience, that there was no blood on their hands. Which is a shame, since blood is always nice to see. Mm, blood. Even so, they found loose floorboards and hid a part here and there.

“Finally, the task was done. They’d done the deed and dirtied their consciences. They shut the door and went back to their little house.” He shot Severa a “pleasant” look and continued. 

“Their actions had not gone unnoticed; the sounds that had occurred during the event had been overheard by the neighbors, and two knights had come over to investigate the source.

“They had nothing to fear, they thought, although there were tremors that passed through the husband’s body the entire time they were interrogated.’

“No, we don’t know what happened. Yes, we just went straight to bed. They easily told these lies, or not so easily, depending on perspective. 

“But then, a strange occurrence started. They began to hear that final scream, the question that had secretly plagued them.

“Why, why, why, why, why. It ticked with the clock. It increased pace, going faster and louder, as though it were a child’s broken toy.’

“It got unbearable and the couple’s piercing wails rang out. ‘It was us! It was us! Check under the floorboards’

“And then insanity claimed them to be his victims. Well, how was that everyone?”

His question snapped people out of their horrified stupors; they had been engrossed in his tale, however gross it was at some points. Yarne had gone off to take a bathroom break, but Inigo had went to drag him back.

“Well done, Henry,” Owain said in approval. “Now then, who’s next?”


	9. Pigtails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been busy with my fire emblem scenario blog! So sorry, but that's updated nigh daily, which you can find at imaginefeawakening.tumblr

As Owain saw the hustle of bustle of everyone in the market, he found himself only fixated on one thing. One very odd thing. Or two, to be precise.  
Pigtails, that belonged to a certain someone that was in a heated argument with the blacksmith.  
He supposed that he should go resolve the matter, but watching her orange tufts of hair had him thinking about the past.  
He remembered their early childhood days, where they would act out as the different members of the justice alliance.  
She’d be wearing a borrowed helmet much too large for her head, and her hair would end up sticking out very strangely. But it didn’t matter at the time; the only important thing then was who got to be Justice Cabal. A lot of the time it would be Brady, because he’d start crying if he wasn’t allowed to be him.

He remembered that for a few years she tried to look more mature, and wore her hair down, or in a single ponytail. Of all the things to recall, it’s weird to him that he’s kept track of her hairstyles.  
He remembered having to push her hair out of her eyes when she was crying; that was the day she discovered both her parents had died. They’d died trying to save the other till their last breath.

The next day when she took up arms with the others, she’d chopped it off with her father’s sword—it got in the way.  
He remembered that after coming to the past, he’d found a stray lock of hair in his bag, which probably remained from the attack on her hair.  
Her haircut meant that it became a bit harder to tie it in the ponytail she’d usually sport, so she reverted to the childhood style that he didn’t know he missed so much until he saw it’s return.  
Not that he ever had any leisure to admire them; they were fighting a losing war, after all. With the world on the brink of utter destruction, simple pleasures were fleeting.  
He remembered he used to spy on her having flowers braided into her hair. And then the first time she had to wash blood out of it.

That day he made a promise to make sure that one day she’d never have to do it again. He started to train even harder, fight more carefully, and make sure everyone’s weapon was in tip-top condition. Because he’d never wanted to hear such heart wrenching sobs from her again.  
It was late at night when they were at camp. Her father’s sword had finally broken from all the wear and tear. She’d worn a brave smile at the time. But when night fell, he saw her clutching it to her chest and weeping. She’d caught his pitiful stares, and assured him she’d do no such thing again. She’d stuck it in the ground and left it at that.  
If a group of hadn’t just ambushed them Risen on their tails, he’d have salvaged even a scrap of metal for her.  
It was strange to see even her hair wilt with her usually perky self, forced or not.

But he’d be sure, so damned sure, that he’d give her every reason to smile, for her pigtails to bounce along happily with her every movement.

“What seems to be the trouble, Cynthia?” he walked up behind her and playfully pushed one of her pigtails, which caused her to start from his sudden appearance.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that! Anyway, this old man thinks that this measly repair’s gonna cost fifty silvers!” she stuck her tongue out at the old man in question and showed Owain her weapon.

“If it’s so damned measly then why don’t ya fix it yerself, lass?” he growled from behind his workstation, clearly not impressed to the impression she’s made of him.

“Well, I…” she had to bite her tongue at this. Maybe the fumes were getting to her head…

“Don’t worry about it! I can take care of it,” Owain told her, and put an arm around her shoulders.

“Really?” her eyes gleamed, and she stuck out her tongue again at the man, who simply harrumphed and twirled his mustache.

“Positive. All in a day’s work for a hero…to help his beloved out,” he told her proudly, and pecked her cheek.

“Owain…” she flushed a shade of pink that wasn’t from the heat of the shop.

“Damned lovebirds get out of here…ain’t even valentines day yet!”

He took that as his cue to take her out and work towards keeping a smile on her face…one day at a time.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you've enjoyed it. Leave a comment for any F/M ships, or any friendships. I'm also open to prompts!


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